An ageing despondency
by ilikehotch
Summary: The dystopian story highlights the extending intelligence and capabilities of the human mind, and how such knowledge can be used for either creative, beneficial purposes or perhaps something a little more egocentric.


**An Ageing Despondency.**__

2013.

Peering out his large office window, Marshall could sense the early signs of Spring. The sky; pale and flawless, had once again become home to the sun, which was radiating much needed warmth into the city of Kryesor. Marshall stifled an innocent smile as he anticipated the events brought with his favourite season – capering in the grass with his wife and devoting his hours to their so obvious affinity. At that moment he longed for the smell of her perfume, the aroma of her hair as it drifted in the wind – it was exactly four hours and thirty two minutes until Marshall could see her again.

A hollow cough from the other side of the room put an abrupt end to Marshall's daydream, reminding him of the true motive for their assembly that day. He turned to face the spritely young man at the head of the table and pulled out a number of documents from a large manila folder – holding little knowledge as to why they had gathered under such unforeseen circumstances. Marshall's co-workers surrounded him, relaxing comfortably in their leather chairs. They too had copies of the papers and had been continuously skimming, looking somewhat surprised as they read through the heavy content.  
>'Do tell us more about your discovery, Dr Stephan.' Marshall announced, nodding his head rather dubiously at the awkward looking scientist. He was flicking his pen on the edge of the table, silently praying that the Doctor's proposal would do more than manufacture a dent in the Government's already sparse time and money.<br>Perhaps noticing the apprehension in the room, Dr Stephan clumsily shifted his weight and adjusted his tie.  
>'As you may have read,' he began 'I have been experimenting with a particular 'medical advancement' over the last couple of years. This advancement, I believe, will change the shape of our futures – alter the perception of humanity as a whole.'<br>Dr Stephan disclosed a great deal of self confidence, a virtue of which helped settle the butterflies in Marshall's stomach. He had grown slightly anxious, unaware of where Dr Stephan would be taking the presentation.  
>'Gentlemen,' The Doctor proclaimed 'I believe I have found the miracle to eternal youth – to immortality.'<br>A wave of excitement flooded the room, with each man turning to look at his fellow politician. The statement placed before them was completely obscure, delving into the realm of the heavily dreamt of but never dared considered. For a few moments, the office was completely silent– no sound exhumed but the rhythmic beat of the analogue clock.  
>'With this advancement you shall never age beyond 35. You will never wane to the dreaded point of impotence, a burden at the hands of society. Never afflict grief on your loved ones or debt on your sacred city, never lose the cherished virtue of a bright young future. You will, to put it simply, hold onto your youth forever.'<p>

An aura of excitement encroached the meeting. This finding was to change the experiences, day to day activities of people incessantly. It would fulfil the long for infinite youth – for a pilgrimage free of limitations and of constraint.  
>Marshall was ecstatic, conjuring an image of himself in 50 years time – as full of youth as he had ever been. He had realised within an instant that there was nothing more that he wanted, nothing that the world would benefit from so excessively. It was perfect.<p>

Dr Stephan coughed delicately, breaking the silence between the men.  
>'If I was to, say, instil the medication to people at birth, how would you feel about that?'<br>There was no response, each man submerged deep in thought.  
>'Not due to complications of course – a man of any age could quite easily use this advancement. The problem would be that some of the members of our city do not share our moral values, perhaps disagreeing with this wonderful idea -and they would take far too long to be persuaded. For this reason, they will not be given the opportunity to live a long life, they do not deserve the paths the rest of us are going to take. We will administer the medication to every infant born as of the start of 2014, so that we shall be able to share this experience with others. Think of the benefits, not only will all loss be eliminated; each human will constantly remain 35 – prime working age. Thus benefits exist for both Kryesor as well as the individual. I stress that this must be kept confidential.'<p>

Marshall and his co workers stared with great delight at the man standing in front of had no queries, needed no reassurance. Noticing this, Dr Stephan reached for his suitcase with juvenile ecstasy and pulled out a bag filled to the brim with little green pills. He rushed between the men, placing three in each of their hands. He repeated the route then with cups, filled with water to ensure the tablets did not revisit. He moved swiftly to the head of the table once more and without leaving time for questions, grabbed some pills of his own. He lifted his cup eagerly so to propose a toast.  
>'Gentleman, congratulations for what you are about to do. With this remedy we will be given the chance to live the dream – to be' Dr Stephan hesitated for just a moment 'Forever young.'<p>

_**2023.**_

Marshall stared vacantly at the latest batch of infants placed in front of him. Each were bawling – for their mothers or because of the injections they had just been given he was unsure. He stared at their pink faces for a moment, marvelling at their innocence, at their vulnerability.  
>Dr Stephan noticed him standing in the corner and walked over to him, a confident spring in his step.<br>'Marshall, so pleased you are here. There are a number of things we need to discuss. Do follow me.' He said, looking Marshall directly in the eye.  
>Felling a little uncomfortable, Marshall followed him out the door and into the city's heart. He struggled to keep up with the Doctor's curt pace, weaving in and out of the people as they crossed the street. There were cars banked up at the lights – a traffic jam had uncovered beneath the Peak Hour Traffic. Marshall sighed, relieved that he had left for the hospital a little earlier than usual.<br>They came to a halt rather abruptly. Dr Stephan's persona appeared to have shifted – in the light he no longer looked enthusiastic but perhaps a little concerned. He took a seat on a park bench, signalling for Marshall to do the same. As he reclined he noticed the growing amounts of vandalism on the wood, wondering why the recent generations showed such little respect or courtesy. He took a mental note to bring it up at the next meeting.  
>Dr Stephan turned to him suddenly, his facial expression apprehensive.<br>'The treatment so far has been successful. To be honest I am in awe; within the ten or so years of it's administration, there has not been a single error made.' He laughed. 'I suppose you wouldn't expect anything less, what with the technology we have these days.'  
>Marshall pushed his hair out of his eyes, not sharing the Doctor's amusement. He had grown weary over previous weeks, his work and home life was beginning to exhaust him.<br>Dr Stephan sensed the dissatisfaction on Marshall's face and resumed with his announcement.  
>'We had to consult outside of the office, I do hope you understand. People may hear otherwise, people with the power to divulge important information to the media.' He coughed. 'I must apologise for the feverish air however, do remind me to set the temperature controls to a lower setting when we return. I honestly did not realise how balmy it was in the open.'<br>Marshall, unconcerned for his apology, shook his head.  
>'It is nothing to agonise over.' He replied, a little short tempered at Stephan's divergence from their initial conversation. 'Do tell me the reason for our gathering.'<br>Dr Stephan searched in his briefcase for his tablet, and within two seconds was showing Marshall a chart.  
>'You see, the green colour represents the people currently employed, by a large business or otherwise . The blue represents the latter.'<br>He gave Marshall time to analyse the results before resuming his monologue.  
>'The unemployment rate has risen by 12% over recent years, and we can only expect it to increase further. You see, people are no longer retiring – for they are remain an appropriate working age.' He paused before turning to reassure Marshall. 'This is not a problem, of course. In the most sense – it is brilliant. It does however mean that, since many people want to continue in the workforce, there are no jobs, so people remain unemployed'<br>Marshall's heart dropped. He truly contested the suffering of his peers, he believed that by working for the government it was his responsibility to protect them as well as he could.  
>'The main drawback with these statistics is the effect it will have on our reputation as a city.' Dr Stephan continued. 'Many observers will note the large number inactive within our community, which will in essence put stress on our authority. There is also an increasing number of homeless due to the unemployment, I might add - all factors that will diminish our public standing.'<br>He turned to look at Marshall, searching for a solution.  
>Marshall glared back, disgusted at Dr Stephan's lack of concern for his citizens.<br>'These people are enduring intense penury and all you can think of is our reputation?' He exclaimed, an obvious discontentment radiating from his voice. 'Was there any point in the last five minutes where you thought about anybody but yourself? I do not want to see innocent people fall rueful at the hands of the government – that is not something I will stand by.'  
>'But sir, you must understand. That is not your call to make.' Dr Stephan interrupted.<br>Marshall fell silent for there was no point in arguing. In his heart, he knew Dr Stephan was right. There was very little he could do to impact the future of Kryesor.

_**2063.**_

The four hoverboards darted amongst the metal frames, the roar of their engines frightening Marshall out of his slumber. From his window he could see the riders, ducking and weaving between the tall, austere buildings, laughing as though they were immune to the brisk cold air. Marshall struggled out of his cot and walked stiffly over to his window, snapping the aluminium covers shut with a sigh of relief. He winced as he turned around, catching his reflection in the mirror – his eyes, his nose, his mouth looked not a day over 30. He scanned his face, searching for signs of crevices, of wrinkles – for some kind of flaw that would make him identifiable, recognisable as the man he was many years ago. Each day, he longed for confirmation that he was in fact real, that his prolonged life was more than a transparent figment of society's own dictation.

A quick glance down drew his attention to a photograph – one piece of colour contrasting with the grey depths of his bedroom. He reached for it, a thousand memories returning. It was his wife, standing on the beach, waves crashing against her petite frame. Kyla had passed many years ago – his only love had grown older as his age had remained the same. A tear fell from his face and onto the photo as he recalled her intense beauty, her passion, the way her mouth twisted as she spoke.  
>'She's in a better place.' He murmured, and he truly believed it. Kyla was a woman of colour, of art; she would have despised a world without the pair. He was somewhat grateful that she had found a release, an escape from the world he should have seen coming.<br>Carefully replacing the image on the mantelpiece, Marshall closed his eyes. He had been a different man since her death, though he knew deep down that the changes had come long before that. He had fallen victim to the religion of the insecure – holding great knowledge that 'his' time had already passed. The memories of his fitting culture were slowly fading, leaving Marshall cumbersome in a world that was not his own.

He took the elevator to the ground floor of his apartment and moped his way into the kitchen, searching for his almost empty bottle of pills. 'Think happy thoughts.' He wished as he opened them, placing three of the bright green capsules into his mouth. He frowned, noticing that they looked faintly similar to those he took in the Spring of 2013. An onset of anger flooded him and he spat out the tablets, refusing to conform to society's opinion of euphoria. He stepped out his front door and onto his patio, where he avoided eye contact with the homeless who had occupied the street corner. It seemed as though everywhere he went had become an uneasy asylum for the otherwise destitute. Marshall truly wished he could do something – ease unemployment, reintroduce retirement even. He had recently given up his attempt to fix what he had created, instead letting himself drown in regret. He looked at his neighbour Mrs Harrison, rinsing the bars of her outdoor umbrella. Marshall used to consider Mrs Harrison his 'adopted' daughter – he had watched her grow from a vulnerable child to a subordinate 35 year old, completely buying the idea that she was living a candid, free life. Each day was routine, her life obviously unchanged as she remained the same age. Marshall pitied her – through his eyes, she was missing out on valuable life experiences; wisdom that only came with age. He longed to show her photos he had from the past, pictures of his parents growing old together, celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary. Some days he just wanted to tell her everything he had done, everything that had been altered because of a naïve, senseless decision. It was the same story with Mrs Peters, the lady living across the street, and Mrs Wallace who lived three doors down.  
>Marshall had witnessed a thousand lives, had experienced a thousand secrets. He had become a blank canvas, fallen victim to the anguish of his chosen repetitive method.<p>

Once again, Marshall repented into his house and stumbled back into bed.

A reel of memories played as Marshall slept. He dreamt of his wife. The times they spent together, an instant film before his eyes. He longed to grow old with her; to retire, travel. In his tale he touched nature, fed birds, felt rain fall around him. The world he had submerged himself in was pure, it was truth. Life was an experience rather than a scientific experiment, it was natural rather than formula. People knew the difference between freedom and dictation. Humanity was synonymous with honesty. His days were more than a lie. Each and every time Marshall closed his eyes, he dreamt of the Spring of 2013.

_**2073.**_

If Marshall squinted hard enough, he could see a TV monitor from the very corner of his bed. He would have to be standing atop it, of course, with his head at a 45 degree angle; but if he was in the perfect position he could catch an entire program.  
>For the past ten minutes he had been following the same news broadcast – it had been alleged that a man suffering a 'psychotic break' had intruded in a government press conference and in turn created mass panic.<br>'He has spoiled the paradise the government took – ' The anchor was interrupted, a woman sobbing loudly beside her. In the background Marshall could see protestors – people holding signs, waving multicoloured flags  
>'The man was clearly delusional.' A young man, formally dressed in a suit and pants had stolen the microphone. He appeared stressed, as though he was responsible for subsiding the outcry of which was clearly advancing. 'There is no reason for panic, no reason for you all to be creating such a fuss.'<br>Another interviewer appeared, thrusting his way into the scene as though he was trying steal the limelight.  
>'What do you have to say about the accusation of the man involved? Is there any truth behind it, Doctor?' He announced.<br>The man turned deathly pale, closing his eyes for a few moments before responding.  
>'I can say that under no circumstance would the government ever alter the natural course of human life. I <em>am<em> a scientist, you see. Scientists are figures of trust. You must believe me.' He fumbled with his script. 'I can guarantee you, that as a species, your lifespan – circle of living so to say, has not been altered in any manner. We have no such power. In the best interest of the public, we have sentenced the man – Eric Marshall to be more specific, to life imprisonment. For the meantime, I have no further comment.'

Marshall stepped down from his bed and instantly felt relaxed. For the first time in a long while, he felt no fury, no angst. The tension in his muscles had gone, the stiffness in his bones had escaped.  
>'I did it.' He whispered, ecstatic.<br>He had accomplished something good in his life – claimed responsibility, told the truth.  
>He laughed. Not since the Spring of 2013 had he felt so alive, so able.<br>He was happy.

Eric Marshall had set himself free.


End file.
